Not Far From the Tree
by AngelsLame
Summary: Joyce's death brings everyone's emotions to a boiling point...with unexpected results.


**NOT FAR FROM THE TREE**

DISCLAIMER: Joss' toys. My playground.

SPOILERS: Some stuff up through "The Body". Dawn still likes Spike.

* * *

Spike watched from across the sidewalk as Joyce, or more precisely, Joyce's newly resurrected body shuffled across the front lawn, up onto the porch and to the door of the Summers' house. He squirmed in his Doc's. Somewhere in the back of his brain, in a little part that remembered how to be human, he knew that he'd been wrong to let Dawn do this, to HELP her do it.

But "little bit" had looked so desperately sad and she'd really needed professional help or who knows what would have happened. He knew when he saw her look up at him from her mother's graveside, that he sure couldn't handle what she was going through. He was 120 bleedin' years out of practice, looking at death from THAT side. So, he'd taken her to see Sunnydale's resident resurrection expert, making sure she had the proper ingredients and instruction. What more could he have done? Kind words? Psalms and Proverbs? She was sick of them. Action was what she wanted. Well, he could do that. He'd even risk life...well unlife...and limb for her fantasy. The teeth marks from the Ghora demon were just starting to fade.

Now as he watched, he could tell that the small man's words were coming true, something had obviously gone horribly wrong. Bloody hell. His stomach flip-flopped, knowing that he had made this possible. That thing, that _perversion_ it wasn't Joyce. She had been laid to rest, a rest which had now been violated and he was to blame. He should have let well enough alone, then his last memories of her would be cocoa and acceptance, not this...lie.

And then another thought. Damn. What would Buffy say when his part in this came to light? Ha. Light would be the _least_ of his worries. She'd see him sprinkled over her breakfast eggs. What had he done? Damn.

He tried to step out from behind 'his' tree but couldn't. He could only stare as the aberration reached for the Summers' door. He heard the few, awkward knocks, felt them rattle through him, then Buffy's voice called for her mother from inside the house. Spike held his breath, or would have, and suddenly, mercifully, Joyce disappeared. Gone. Just like that. Buffy pulled open the door and peered out into nothingness. Spike stepped back around the tree and sighed a long, slow sigh of relief. Too close.

He slowly ventured another look at the house and through the open door he saw Buffy and Dawn fall into each other's arms. Pieces of photograph floated from Dawn's fingers to the floor and he heard Dawn telling Buffy, "It's okay. It's okay." And then he heard another thing. Something he never thought he'd ever hear. Buffy was crying. Not just crying, but keening, sobbing uncontrollably. Never NEVER in 120 years had Spike seen a Slayer, and there had been a lot of them, who was not in control. Sure he'd seen Buffy blue, depressed, but never so...vulnerable. Slayers were always strong, even in death. But here was Buffy, being...human.

Spike felt angry. Damn. She was NOT supposed to do that, to fall apart. She was supposed to fight back. Stand up and fight back. What kind of Slayer was she? Spike blinked. He looked back up at her, still sitting in the frame of the doorway. She suddenly looked small and fragile. Damn her.

He closed his eyes, disillusioned and shaken. The woman he'd placed on a pedestal, held for months above all others as a paragon of strength and solidity, wasn't. She was his verbal and physical sparring partner, beating him more often than not, and _he_ was good. She defended people, Sunnydale, the World, the Universe from peril time and time again. She was invincible and on her side or against her, that was fun. But, turns out, she was a...a...a _girl_ , and what did he know about _those_? He felt...was it...fear?

Dru had never wanted to be close. She was content with their physical relationship, in hunting together, the violence, blood and the complete celebration of their unlives. He was the one who had finally fallen in love, mesmerized by her and eager for her acceptance in whatever form she chose. He did everything with her, for her. He swore to protect her when she was weak, found her a cure, and made her well. And what had that gotten him? Kindness? Devotion? Monogamy? Ha!

In observing them he'd discovered that tenderness was to be prized in human relationships, but tenderness was part of a man Spike no longer chose to be. In _him_ it sounded an ancient echo associated only with unspeakable rejection and pain. Why on earth would he go through that? Again? On purpose? Anyway, loving gestures were obviously not in his nature, not anymore. When he'd seen Buffy sitting sadly on the back stoop of her house, it had been all he could do to put his hand on her shoulder for even a moment. He couldn't even seem to say her name. He would call her everything from kitten to bitch, everything except those two most intimate syllables, Buffy.

But here, hidden in the dark unseen and unknown by her, as he listened to pure anguish pouring from her, somewhere inside him a memory of an unrealized dream stirred. The remains of a shattered romantic fantasy of shared trust, and mutual understanding, soft talk, gentle laughter, fulfillment and delight simply in each other's existence. Spike caught himself against the tree as those feelings he'd cast off long ago, reintroduced themselves, washing over him made more powerful by their absence.

He realized that these forgotten emotions, emotions he'd _happily_ forgotten and _gladly_ buried, were emerging from somewhere deep within him. He'd awakened to them from his dreams and upon realizing them, eagerly dispatched them again and again. But now Buffy was resurrecting them. Just as the Niblet had brought back their mother, his dreams were being raised and Buffy's spell was creating for him something just as frightening.

This spell wasn't woven in magic, but it existed in her. It was in her eyes when she fought with him. In her humor. In the way she cared for those around her, her family, her friends. In how she cherished all life with such passion. In how she embraced both the delightful and the terrible parts of her humanity. In how she now suffered her loss. _She_ was the spell that made him want to love again.

He looked up in surprise. He'd spent 120 years trying to escape the pain, but in doing so he had also turned his back on the essence of love and it had left him empty. Gasping unneeded breath he realized what would make him whole again...WAS making him whole. Fearfully he unlocked the heavy gates guarding his humanity and stepped inside for the first time in his unlife. He was afraid of what he might find, but he somehow knew that here lay his happiness. He fell, his back against the tree, as he allowed his emotions to overwhelm him.

Softly and unknowingly, he began to cry as his memories paraded before him.

He mourned for Joyce and the loss of her friendship and then he pitied himself for the fear that was keeping him here alone instead of up there, inside, lamenting with her daughters.

Unexpectedly he thought of Dru and how she must have been before Angelus, beautiful, pious, but turned cunning and evil and demented from torture and suffering.

He mourned William, the loss of innocence, youth and promise. He thought of his parents, his brother and sisters and the pain they must have felt at his disappearance. He cried for Cecily and her inability to understand love beyond her station. He cried for what he had been, and what he might have become and what he was.

In despair, he slipped to the ground, his coat rubbing against the rough trunk of the tree, and he stared unseeingly into the night. As his tears subsided (How long had he been crying?) he ran the back of his hand over his wet face. He pulled his duster tightly around him as he began to shiver. He hardly noticed as the tremors grew more and more powerful, until he shook uncontrollably.

What he had noticed instead were the voices. They came to him first as whispers, the soft droning of indistinguishable words, but he knew their meaning and dread filled him as some unseen hand turned up the volume. They were the words of those he had hunted, the spirits of the faceless victims he could not remember as they reached to him through their pain, calling to him in their final hours, minutes, moments. He hadn't listened then, but now their countless petitions reverberated through him as he heard each of them beg for life and say prayers when he denied them of it. Pleas which had been so long unanswered, now sang out together as one, pounding over him in waves of terror. He hid his face in his hands and their horror became his shame. Is this how the cursed Angelus had felt?

Again and again and again the voices returned, unrelenting, each one demanding a pound of his flesh. Retribution. The noise. The noise! He covered his ears, trying to hide and failing that he began to scream wildly into the darkness.

After what seemed like hours later, another sound reached out to him through the din. It stood out as the one compassionate voice, not accusing or harsh, dying or fearful, but one searching, calling his name. "Spike, Spike?" In desperation he focused on the sound and followed it like a beacon leading home. "Spike?" Slowly the other voices fell away and then there were just two. His own raspy cries and... His eyes flew open.

Buffy was kneeling before him on the ground. Her face was lined with worry as she stared into his face. "Shhh. It's all right." The words made no sense, but they comforted him, calmed him. He realized he was still screaming and searched his brain, finally remembering how to stop. He closed his mouth and heard his last cry echo down Rovello Drive in the dark. "It's all right, Spike. I'm here. It's OK." He sat there trying to comprehend.

Buffy reached down and grasped his hands. She held them, trying to halt the trembling that still racked him, but somehow Buffy knew that defeating the terror which had overtaken him was his battle to fight, not hers. She felt helpless, able only to murmur soft comforting words and offer soothing caresses.

She looked into his face to see if he were improving. Usually when she looked into his eyes, the look that Spike returned was cocky, smug, proud. None of that was there now. Now his eyes held pain, fear, contrition and something else... What was it? "My God, Spike. What happened?" her voice was rich with compassion.

He licked his lips and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. "Don' know," he whispered hoarsely.

Buffy helped him to stand. "Come on." She ducked under his arm and helped him walk to her porch. Dawn waited at the top of the stairs there for her sister to return. They had been sitting on the floor, crying for their mother, realizing at last that they had each other to hold when things got bad, when they'd heard the screaming. It had enveloped them, chilling their bones and giving them a preview of hell. Dawn had never heard anything like it before and from the look on Buffy's face, neither had she. But something, or someone was suffering horribly and with a swift admonition for Dawn to stay put, Buffy had gone to see. Dawn had watched her leave from the door. She held her ears against the noise and couldn't put a direction to it, but she saw Buffy stop as she ran past the tree in front of their house. She had knelt there for a while as the noise subsided and now Buffy was hobbling back across the yard, supporting the neighborhood's only bleached-blonde killer on her shoulder.

Dawn stepped back as they topped the stairs and went to the door. Buffy muttered, "Come on in, Spike," breathlessly and led him to the couch where she laid him down carefully. He sank wearily into it's cushions and closed his eyes, willing his shaking to stop, but he couldn't quite gain control, twitching involuntarily from time to time.

Dawn looked down into Spike's face. "What is it? What happened to him? Was it Glory?"

Buffy looked up. She hadn't considered that. But she looked back down at Spike and knew that wasn't it. "No. Not Glory. I don't know what this is. Did you see his eyes? They're...different. Realer I think. Is that a word?" She weighed the situation only a moment longer. "I'd better call Giles."

Buffy went in search of the cordless phone and Dawn grabbed the quilt off the back of the couch and covered the former villain that lay there. "Well, that's something I can put in my diary tonight. I tucked Spike in." Dawn sat on the edge of the sofa and reached out slowly to lay a hand on his cheek. It seemed to help him rest.

"Damnit, it doesn't do any good to have him on speed dial if he just doesn't pi...Giles! Thank God! Something's happened. You need to come here, now." Buffy listened, " No, Dawn and I are fine. It's Spike. Please hurry? Thanks." She punched the END button and set the phone down. "He's on his way." She sat on the coffee table near Dawn's side and folded her arms. "What's wrong with this picture?" she thought as she watched her little sister comfort the vampire. She considered it for a minute but couldn't find an answer to her question.

Spike's trembling slowed and finally stopped. He fell asleep with Buffy and Dawn watching over him.

A few minutes later, Giles knocked on the door. Buffy led him in and with a quick look back at her sister, she led Giles into the den. "What is it Buffy?" the Watcher began. "Are you and Dawn all right?"

"We're fine, Giles. Really," she began. "It's Spike." She told Giles about finding her former enemy at the base of the tree out front, screaming and shivering violently, but she said "desperately" instead, the other word would set Giles off.

"And you're sure? It wasn't Glory?" Giles asked.

"Positive. He was talking to me after, and he wasn't confused, just...scared. No, that's not the right word either. More like...traumatized."

"Spike? Traumatized?" a small smile played across his lips. "I see."

"No, Giles. You don't. You didn't see. His eyes...they're...different. Older somehow, or...something."

"What was happening when this began? Where were you again?"

"Dawn and I were sta...no sitting on the floor by the front door, crying about mom. I guess Spike must have been by the tree, at least, that's where I found him."

"Was it open? The door I mean."

"What dif...," Giles reprimanded her impertinence with a look that said he wouldn't stand for it. "Yes."

"So it's likely he heard you?"

"So?"

"So, you're not reading your lessons anymore. Are you?"

"Well, I'm not reading them any _less_ ," she quipped. She caught an icy stare and continued, "Giles, I...," got her the same look again. "No."

"Well three weeks ago I assigned you a book called the Slayer's 'Manual'. In it was a section entitled, 'Miscellaneous Powers'. Would you go fetch it from wherever you tossed it down, please?"

Buffy gave him a look but decided it would be better to comply. When she returned with the book, Giles flipped pages to the chapter in question. "This is just a listing of miscellaneous skills other Slayers have exhibited over the centuries. These are not attributable to any specific Watcher or any bequeathed Slayer power, but are independent of origin and powerful in their own right. What is assumed is that these skills are inherent either in the individual Slayers based on their own character, or there is an endless pool of powers from which a Slayer may draw as situations dictate."

"Like stopping bullets and stuff like that?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Giles submitted. "Anyway, it seems to me," he ran is finger down the list, "a Slayer may hold... raise... find... Here it is," he began to read. "A Slayer may alter the qualities of a vampire."

"'Alter qualities'? Did I do that? How?"

"It refers to another text for a specific example, but it defines the process as the 'spontaneous synchronization of intense spiritual vision'. I have this volume with the examples back at the shop. Shall I get it?"

Buffy nodded and followed Giles back out to the foyer. Dawn was holding Spike's hand as he rested. "It helps him sleep," she explained.

Giles looked down at the face of the sleeping vampire. There WAS something different. He shook his head and walked to the door. "I will call you, Buffy, when I have the book in hand."

After she shut the door, Buffy assumed her position on the coffee table again.

"Well?" Dawn prompted.

"Nothing yet. Giles said something about me having altered Spike's qualities."

"That sounds...not so bad. I mean, as long as it was in a _good_ way. Right?"

"I guess. Anyway, he's going to call when he has an example of how this was done by a past Slayer. That might give us an idea of what's happened now."

Dawn nodded as Spike stirred in his slumber. "Ouch!" she exclaimed as she shook free of Spike's grasp. "Geez.. He's strong." Spike began to moan and shiver in his sleep again.

Buffy watched as Dawn massaged her hand. "Here, let me." Buffy took Dawn's spot and held Spike's hand. "You make some hot chocolate. He'll like that when he comes 'round."

"OK," Dawn agreed and she headed out to the kitchen. "Buffy?" she stopped, "you don't think he'll wake up all...you know...hungry? Do you?"

Buffy looked down at Spike, "No Dawn, he wasn't like that. Don't worry," she assured her sister, "Not even close. Take the phone with you. If Giles calls, just let me know what he says. I don't want the ringing to wake him up."

"'K," Dawn said again and she picked up the phone on her way out of the room.

Buffy looked down at Spike. She looked at the hand that now grasped hers with a powerful desperation. It was a good hand; strong, angular, artistic. Had she noticed that before? "What's happened, Spike?" she asked quietly, "What have I done to you?" But he didn't answer.

There was something nagging at her. What was it? She looked at him, laying there, he was resting quietly now. When he was awake, they played this game, jabbing each other with words, using sarcasm and humor to mask their true feelings. Failing all else, they just had to remember that she was the Slayer and he was the Master. Well, facts were facts and you couldn't alter those. Could you? How many times had his eyes mocked her, laughed at her, glared at her? She felt anger well within her at the memories but then she remembered that those same eyes had also betrayed his pain when she rejected him, looked at her with love and burned with desire in her presence. She reached out and touched his sleeping countenance, her fingers lightly tracing his cheek, his jaw, his scarred brow. This face haunted her dreams, the bad ones and the good ones too, although she'd absolutely NEVER admit that.

She listened as Dawn worked in the kitchen, pots and pans shifting, cupboard doors open and close. Reassuring sounds of home. They calmed her. She thought back to the earlier argument with Dawn. She hadn't meant to slap her, but Buffy had been trying so hard to hold on, to keep focused on anything other than missing mom. She'd organized, bought, decided, packed, moved, written, anything. But now that the funeral was over, the tasks were complete and Angel was gone, there was just this nothingness. She was desperate to find something to hold on to, to keep her from falling prey to the despair that had been dogging her for weeks.

So when she found out what Dawn had done, resurrecting Joyce, a part of her was grateful because it filled that void, but a larger, darker part of her had honestly hoped it was going to work. It had hoped that Dawn could really pull it off and that she could fling open the door and see her mother's smile and hear stories about the gallery. Then mom would take over again and assume those terrifying responsibilities for which Buffy woefully unprepared. But it hadn't happened. There had been no one at the door, no miracle, no grown up and Buffy had crumbled, fallen apart and given up like a baby. She didn't remember the last time she'd cried like that, like she would never stop. It had been frightening at first, like swimming under ice, cold and claustrophobic, no air to breathe, but she reached out and found Dawn.

Never in her life had she felt such desperate gratitude for her sister and her tears of loss had transformed to tears of gratitude for a family and friends who cared for her and about her, who loved her. Suddenly then, and unexpectedly she began to feel something else wash over her. It piled upon her from all directions, overwhelming her with...had it been joy? Blood pounded in her ears and she began to hear voices in the rhythm, a multitude of voices, all kinds of voices, young, old, man, woman, child, all calling her name. Then she heard other words, the humbling sounds of countless 'thank yous' and she realized that the exaltation was pouring forth from the mouths of all the people she'd saved, the individuals she'd known and rescued, people she knew on sight, and others she'd never meet, but who benefited by what she did. People who never knew that their lives had been spared, but who lived because she had done her duty and fulfilled her calling. And again her tears transformed from gratitude to humility and thankfulness for her ability to serve.

That was when Spike's screams had pierced through her reverie and reluctant as she had been to tear herself away from such happiness, her duty drove her out into the night again.

She was still shaken by the episode. She hadn't told Giles, because there was no way she could express everything those few minutes had meant to her, all that she had felt and still felt, the resurge of strength and dedication it heralded. But she knew that she would tell him, eventually.

Somewhere in the kitchen the phone warbled. She heard Dawn answer and then nothing. She looked down at her hand, still in Spike's they intertwined, strength on strength. What was it that was bothering her?

She looked up as Dawn walked into the room. The phone hung loosely at her side and her eyes were wide as she looked at Spike. "Dawn?" Buffy questioned. "Was that Giles?" Dawn nodded silently. "Well?" Dawn's stare moved from Spike to Buffy. "What did he say?" Buffy urged with growing impatience.

"Uh..."

"What did he say?"

"Buffy, he asked me to take Spike's pulse."

"Dawn, Giles would never say to. Spike's a vampire. He HAS no pulse. What did he really say?"

"That's what he said. Really."

Buffy stared at her sister hard, then turned back to Spike. She stood up and dropped his hand as she suddenly realized what it was that had been bothering her. His hand was warm. Buffy's eyes grew wide and mirrored her sister's. "Wha..."

"Giles says that it happened only once before. It was in that book he read...something about an altar?"

"You mean 'altering'?"

"That's what I said. Anyway, it seems that this Slayer a long time ago, fell in love with a vampire. Did you know that happened before?" Buffy shook her head. "Well it did. So they loved each other but they were like, star-crossed and..."

As she talked, Buffy took the phone from her hands. She wanted facts to work with here. "Giles, give me the grown up version, not the fairy tale."

"Oh, Buffy. It's you. Yes," the Watcher's voice came over the phone, "Let me see. It seems that opposites do attract as far as Slayers and vampires are concerned. You and Angel weren't the first. But since Angel had a soul, things didn't... Anyway, there was a Slayer about 1,200 years ago named Fiona who loved a vampire named Victor. They could never be together, for obvious reasons, and although it broke her heart, as Fiona agreed to meet with Victor one evening she planned to stake her lover and then kill herself, ending their earthly torment. She hadn't shared her plan with Victor, but as soon as they met that night, he knew her heart because he understood her so well."

"Sounds familiar," Buffy muttered under her breath, remembering how Spike knew unlike anyone else.

"What was that?" Giles asked.

"Nothing. Go on. What happened?"

"Well, when they met and she knew it was for the last time her tears began to flow and she suffered unbearably, knowing what she was about to lose. Still, she raised the stake to his heart, and as she did, Victor bared his chest acknowledging her decision and willingly sacrificing himself to their fate. But before she could strike she was overcome with a feeling of complete contentment, a sense of utter fulfillment. Then although she hadn't touched him, she watched as Victor fell to the ground in front of her. At the moment of her joy, the counterpoint within him, his demon, was released as well. Fiona knelt beside her love as he suffered immeasurably, remembering his past sins yet he welcomed the pain, knowing that it signaled his rebirth." Giles stopped talking. "Buffy?" No answer. "Buffy, are you there?"

Buffy was staring at Dawn, then they both looked at the man sleeping on their sofa and back at each other again. Buffy's arm fell and she dropped the phone to the floor. Dawn heard Giles' calls for Buffy and picked up the instrument. "Giles, it's Dawn."

"What's going on over there, Dawn? Do I need to come back? Where's Buffy?"

Buffy was sitting on the couch again, she lifted the edge of the quilt and stared as Spike's chest rose and fell softly as he breathed. She took up his hand again to feel his pulse and as she did he stirred awake. He looked up from his bed and on seeing the wide-eyed looks Buffy and Dawn were giving him, he grew alarmed. "What is it?" he asked. "'ave I grown horns or somethin'?" He threw his legs over the side of the couch and stood, or tried to stand, then fell back. "Bloody hell, Slayer, I can't see for m'self. Tell me!"

"That's it!" Dawn called as she set the phone down and ran into the foyer.

His hands reached up to feel his head frantically. "No, Spike. No, that's NOT it," Buffy found her voice, trying to calm him and correct her sister. "It's just that..."

Dawn came back holding a mirror from the wall. She held one corner of the frame and stood the glass on the coffee table in front of him. "Spike," she said. "You don't have horns. See?" Her mouth broke into a wide smile as she delighted in this turn of events.

"Niblet, don't you know anythin' about vampires? We can't see our refl..." his voice trailed off as he saw his likeness for the first time in 120 years. "Wha' the?" Buffy was still speechless and now so was he. Their eyes met in wonder.

Giles' voice called loudly from the discarded phone. "DAWN!"

Dawn picked up the phone. "Giles, I think you should probably come over here again," she suggested. "And bring that book with you, I think we'll want to compare the details."

"You mean?" she cut him off and hung up.

"I'll just leave you two alone. To talk? You know." She smiled brightly at each of them and left the room. "I'll be in the kitchen making that hot chocolate."

Giles put the stethoscope back into his first aid kit. He'd listened to Spike's new heartbeat and the former demon had failed the 'hold your breath' test miserably. "Well it seems it's happened again. Buffy I wish you'd told me about what you'd experienced in your grief, but I understand. You must have been quite overcome." Buffy nodded. "Well, Spike, I don't know what to say other than, welcome back to the human race," he held out his hand to the ex-vampire, "and make the most of it."

"Thanks, mate," Spike replied, shaking hands. "I will. I think I'm goin' to like it here this time 'round," and he turned his eyes to Buffy.

"Buffy, are you all right?" Giles turned to his charge with a worried look. She hadn't spoken for a long time.

"Yes. I'm fine, Giles. Just still a little...well, confused I guess. I mean, what exactly was it that happened to us?"

They all sat down in the living room as Giles explained, "My best guess is that circumstances were...I mean with you being the Slayer and Spike being...well, Spike...and the two of you were such complete opposites yet you both shared a unique moment of emotional power within the proximity of each other, those forces which were unbalanced took the opportunity to realign."

Buffy blinked at him. "Huh?"

"The powers just wiped our slates clean. Everything is back to the beginning.

"Even-Steven?" Dawn asked.

"Well, yes. Spike's sort of...right."

"You mean that everything he's ever done wrong was erased by everything I ever did to _help_ people?"

"Yes, I suppose that's it in a nutshell."

"Oh," Buffy thought. "So now what? If I slay something later, does he have to...you know...kill someone?"

"No, Buffy," Giles explained. "According to the story of Fiona and Victor, they went on to live long and productive lives as a normal human couple. They raised a family and died at a ripe old age within hours of each other."

"Sounds nice," Spike smiled.

Buffy glowered at the ex-vampire. "Hold it. I still don't get it. You may not be dangerous anymore," Spike grinned mischievously at her, "But I'm still a Slayer. Won't my next dusty date ruin the whole balance thing again?"

"Well, I'll have to place a phone call, but I don't think you need to worry about that Buffy. I think that whatever happened to Spike happened to you as well. I believe that I'm out of a job again."

"What?" Spike and Buffy both asked at the same time.

"You're no longer a Slayer."

"What?" Spike and Buffy both asked again.

"If you allow me," he took an ancient book out of his bag. "There's one more sentence to the story." The two on the couch held their breath. ""From that day forward, Fiona carried no more weapons _AND_ the next Chosen One was brought forth from the tribe of Accula which lived within the mountains of Italy." So you see, Fiona's time as the Slayer wasn't ended by battle. She must have had the same fate as Victor."

Buffy couldn't believe him. She walked over to the fireplace and picked up the iron poker in both hands. She tried to bend it. Nothing. It didn't budge. She tried again with the same result.

"Wow," Buffy breathed.

" _Double_ wow," Spike corrected, standing.

"Uh, huh," Giles agreed.

Dawn whistled.

Silence.

Finally Giles rose to leave. "Buffy. Spike. A lot has happened and it seems that we all have several things to discuss, but I think that you've both been through enough already so I'll leave you to talk and after I call the Council tomorrow, we'll get together again and see what to do next." The two just nodded. Giles looked at them, accessing them and judging that they would be all right for a few hours. "Right, well, I'm off then. Until tomorrow, then."

He walked toward the door and almost touched the knob before Buffy called after him. "Can you take Dawn with you, Giles? Please? If Spike and I are just human now, there's no _way_ we can protect her from Glory. She needs to be somewhere safe, where she won't be found."

"Of course, Buffy. Anything I can do."

As Dawn went upstairs to pack, the other three stood uncomfortably, waiting for her return. Then Giles cleared his throat. "Can I drop you somewhere, Spike?"

"Uh...I...I don' know. Seems a bit off, don't you think? Sleepin' in a crypt after...after this."

"He'll stay here," Buffy interrupted. Giles raised his eyebrows. "He's right, he can't sleep in a crypt anymore and we...I have lots of extra room. So he'll stay here."

Spike smiled broadly and shrugged at Giles. "You 'eard the lady."

Dawn came running down the stairs with her sleeping bag and backpack. "All right then, we'll see you both tomorrow."

"Both?" Dawn asked and raised _her_ eyebrows but grinned lavishly.

"Dawn!" Buffy warned but they were already out the door. Dawn laughed as she turned back toward the house. "'Night guys! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Buffy crossed her arms and glared cross at Dawn from the doorway. Behind her Spike watched as the red sports car pulled out and drove away.

Back inside they sat in silence for a while on the couch. "Buffy?" Spike ventured eventually. He found that her name came to him more easily now. _Another_ new thing. But still it elicited no answer. "Buffy, love?" Nothing. Fall back to what worked, "SLAYER!"

Buffy jumped. "What?!"

"I was getting' lonely."

"Oh? I mean. Oh. I'm sorry. I guess I...a lot's happened tonight."

"Tell me about it! Human again. Go figure."

"What was it like, Spike...what happened to you?"

"Well...it was like...kinda like dyin' again. I saw my unlife flash before my eyes and revisited all my...regrets. 'Cept this time was different. A lot more regrets." He stopped talking as he remembered the torment he'd suffered. "But hell, look at me now! Thanks to you, I've got another shot. It's a bloody miracle."

Buffy stared at him. He'd been smiling for a long time, smiling like a kid in a candy store, but this was too much. She felt like she was drowning. She couldn't be happy for him, or with him. Not yet. "Wha'? Don' you like me like this, love?"

"Like _what_? What exactly is it that you are?"

"Alive, Buffy. I'm _alive_!" He threw back his head and breathed deeply, grinning all the while.

"You found forgiveness, a fresh start, a chance to be good. You got a 'do-over'. But I was good already, I thought. Now who am _I_? What was _I_ given?"

Without lifting his head he told her, "You're Buffy Anne Summers. You used to kill demons and vampires and save the world and tonight...tonight you had a glimpse of your reward."

That frightened her. What she'd felt had been closer to rapture than anything else, ever. If what she'd seen was her Slayer's reward but she couldn't continue slaying, would she never experience such joy again? And if she was human again, then what did that mean? For five years she'd known she had no future. She'd made no long-term plans, chosen no distant goals. But now she had vast amorphous decades stretching out before her and she couldn't account for what to do, even for the next five minutes. "I don't think I remember how to be human, Spike. Now that I'm not the Slayer, what am I? Just an ordinary 20-year-old girl?"

Spike sat up and looked at her. "No, love. That's not you, not by a long shot. There is nothing ordinary about being Buffy. Buffy is beautiful, kind, generous, stubborn, strong, loving, smart, brave, loyal."

"Okay, stop. Now I sound like a boy scout," she sniffed, but the corners of her mouth began to move upward.

Spike laughed. "You are all of those things I said, and one other as well." He leaned toward her and whispered into her ear. "All woman." He sat back and smiled with satisfaction at the reaction he got. Buffy blushed four shades of red.

"I see you haven't changed _that_ much." Spike began to reach for her hand, but pulled back. Buffy smiled at his hesitation and took his hand in hers instead. She watched as their fingers linked together.

"You're scared about the future because it isn't going to be the way you thought," Spike reassured her, "But well, nobody really knows what's in store, do they?" She shook her head. "Buffy, you know I love you. If you didn't before, you do now because what happened, happened. I also know that you're thinking that this kind of transformation is not what I wanted, but you're wrong. This _is_ what I would have hoped, if I had dared to hope. God, Buffy, what's happened tonight has made me the happiest man in Suunydale, hell, on the _planet_ , because now that I have one, I can share my life with you, if you'll have me. I mean, if you feel the same."

Buffy thought about how he DID know everything about her, how their differences complimented each other and how they found strength in their similarities. She was content in his company and it made her glad that she knew him as a friend and partner. And sitting there, holding his hand in hers, she could no longer deny that there was another kind of chemistry between them too. She looked into his deep blue eyes and there in him she saw everything she had experienced in her vision earlier; unwavering acceptance, gratitude, love and support, not lost after all. A surprising wave of contentment flowed through and warmed her and she listened to her heart.

She took a deep breath. "The other Slayer and her vampire, Fiona and Victor, the transformation happened, just like it did to us tonight..."

"Yeah. She was grievin', and he opened the door to _his_ emotions 'cuz he loved her."

"Yes. But Giles said that everything had to have been _exactly_ the same for it to have worked. And the part that you've forgotten is where she was in love with him too." Spike's gaze never wavered as Buffy turned and placed her other hand on his chest. "So you see? Like you said, 'If you didn't know it before, you do now, tonight, because what happened, happened.'" She looked up at him, sure and confident now and Spike caught his breath as she pressed her lips to his. As she pulled back, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her passionately. He thrilled as he felt her respond in kind. Their kiss deepened as their worlds narrowed and the kiss became all that was. They pulled back gasping for breath.

Spike looked at Buffy in his arms. She was everything he had dreamed and the sparkles in her eyes were there for him. He swallowed. Might as well start things out like a gentleman. "Buffy? Giles was right about something you know. We've been through a lot tonight. Maybe we ought to slow this down a little? I don't want to rush you into anything." Damn him, she thought. Why does he _always_ have to be right? He watched disappointment flicker across her face. "Not that I wouldn't...," he continued.

"No, Spike, you're right. We should wait. Tonight's been too intense already. But not that I wouldn't too." Bloody hell, now he wanted her more than ever but he watched as she untangled herself from his arms and stood up. "Would you like some more hot chocolate?" He nodded, took her hand and followed her into the kitchen.

They fell asleep on the sofa, holding each other. They had talked way into the night. They relived events that had brought them together, retelling tales of their past and fashioning dreams of what might come. At dawn, Spike slipped from her embrace and throwing on his coat, made his way to the front door. Buffy, though, had felt him leave and wasn't far behind. She found him sitting in one of the chairs on the front porch, staring straight ahead. She walked across in front of him and crawled up into the other chair, hugging herself against the early morning damp. "So? What's up?"

"That."

Buffy followed his gaze and watched as the first rays of the morning sun topped the horizon. She looked back at Spike. Tears fell from his open eyes. He wouldn't miss this for the world. When the sun had fully risen, Spike stood up and took off his coat. He stepped to the front of the porch into the light and closed his eyes. The warmth of this morning's sunrise was unlike anything he'd ever known. It warmed him completely. Buffy gave him some time then walked behind him and slipped her arms around him, laying her head on his back. He turned toward her and gasped as the sunlight turned her hair to gold and her eyes to emerald. "God, this can't be happenin'. I must be dreamin'."

Her arms still around his waist, Buffy smiled at him and kissed him softly, "No Spike, this is real. Very, very real." He kissed her back, just to be sure.

"I think that maybe I'd like you to call me Will. Spike doesn't seem quite right anymore. Is that OK?"

"Will," she tested the name and smiled. "I like it."

They stood there in each other's arms, in the sun for a very long time.

FIN


End file.
